Blood Spilt
by 3hunna
Summary: A collection of one-shot deaths from different hunger games throughout the years. Original idea by Silverstardust99.
1. Copper McMullen

_A/N. I got the idea for a bunch of Random deaths from different hunger games from Silverstardust99's story "Knives fall". Make sure to check hers out (I hope she isn't too mad that I'm continuing her (his?) legacy)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games and this Idea was originally Silverstardust99's_

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**Copper McMullen (Age 16) Female - District 3**

I hear them coming, and I know its useless to try and run. It doesn't stop me from trying.

I knew what was going to happen the second my name was called from the large reaping bowl back home. No, called is too tame a word. Sentenced sounds much better.

I was sentenced to death by the _lovely_ capitol citizens. And now death has come knocking in the form of half a dozen teenage killers.

I am not fast, this much becomes clear after a few seconds. I can barely keep up with my classmates on the field, let alone in an icy cold pine forest. I hear the boisterous laughs from the boys and the vicious taunts the girls scream at the top of their longs, and the knot of despair grows in my chest.

I start crying, I can't help it. The fastest one grabs me by the long gingery hairs that earned me my name and rips me down to the ground. The others only take a moment to catch up to the easy kill that lays whimpering in fear at their feet.

The large boy who caught me unsheathes his sword slowly, savoring the ecstasy of murdering the girl on the ground beneath him.

I was sentenced to death by the capitol. I would have rather faced the gallows than endure the horror of having that sword pushed through my skull.

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_This is the first of many (hopefully, haha, I have a tendency to just let stories flop)_

_Review Guys and Gals! _

_and make sure to check out the original!_


	2. Rebecca Linst

_A/N. Here's another quick little death_

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**Rebecca Linst (Age 17) Female - District 9**

As my platform pushes me up to the surface, I feel nothing. No fear. No excitement. Nothing. I left that all down in the launch room with my twittering stylist.

It's a cold arena this year, an icy valley with cliffs that stretch four hundred feet above my head, giving me the impression of being buried alive.

I look out towards the cornucopia about a hundred feet in front of me and I remember my composed mentor's words. Grab food, some water, than get the hell out of there.

The gong sounds and every single tribute runs straight ahead, straight towards the golden horn. With everyone in white snowsuits and big clunky boots, it takes about a minute, maybe two, for the fastest tributes to reach all the supplies, all the weapons. Than the real fun starts.

Screams pierce the howling winter air and the snow runs red with the first bloody deaths of the year. I'm only ten feet away when I notice most of the other tributes have charged one another in a frenzy. I jump over a pair of wrestling white blobs and reach a light blue back pack. As I sling on the straps, I turn back the way I came, to the wrestling pair.

Only it's no longer a pair, just a bear sized District Two tribute pushing a dead boy off of him. I try to back track but it's too late for that. His huge palms form a vice around my collar.

It hurts when he snaps my neck, not that I feel it for very long.

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_Like it? Hate it? Don't forget to rate it._

_Review people!_

_Also, makesure to mention any ideas or requests you may have_


	3. Faustus Lee

_A/N. A Typical Career. Is it bad that I don't mind killing them?_

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Faustus Lee (Age 18) Male - District 2

"District one," my District partner Cimber hisses between her teeth, looking behind me. I whip around to face the contenders from the luxury items district. They become the contenders during the bloodbath on day one. The boy by killing the pair from District Four, the girl through slimming down the number of non career tributes down to the single digits.

"Yes, hello to you too Cimber," murmurs the male half to the duo, shaking his blond mane out of his eyes. Cimber grips her knives tighter in response, back arched like a feline preparing to pounce.

The meadow where we made camp transforms from a place of safety to somewhere dangerous and unfamiliar.

The girl across the small field responds by raising her deadly accurate bow up, arrow aimed directly at Cimber's heart. We've seen her shoot in training. She doesn't miss.

If there was any hope of negotiating a peaceful passing, it was lost with that small movement. Cimber sure as hell won't let that harpy threaten her and live to tell about it.

She crouches down just in time to avoid the arrow meant to end her life and the boy jumps forward to fight her.

I barrel towards them both, raising my mace high above my head, ready to scatter his brains across the grass. District One turns her new arrow from Cimber to me instead and releases her grip on its feathery rear end.

It lands somewhere near my stomach, but I push through the stabbing pain and change my course to her instead, unaware of the cold smile that curves on the archer's lips

The second arrow hits its mark this time, that mark being right in between my eyes.

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	4. Twig Castrop

_A/N. In Catching Fire when Peeta and Katniss are watching Haymitch's games, she stated that someone was eaten by a pack of squirrel mutts._

_So, without further ado :D_

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Twig Castrop (Age 14) Male - District 7

I walk unsteadily through the woods and think, not for the first time, that this could be the most beautiful place I've ever been. That's really not saying much, but hey, it's the thought that counts.

My thin legs are rubber, the small back pack I had scrambled up at the bloodbath seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and I have dropped my knife more than once in the last hour, but I am somehow alive.

_I have to keep going, keep moving. There are only four-_

BOOM!

…_three of us left._

I'm stunned by that statement for a moment.

So far today, two cannons have gone off. I search my scattered brain for a moment, trying to remember whose left. I don't realize that I've begun walking again.

One or two career tributes, maybe that girl from District 12? Oh! One boy from District 12 is still alive (or was this morning). I would remember seeing his surly face in the sky.

All of the sudden I enter a little clearing and continue at my slow gait. I stop suddenly. I feel the like I'm being watched. Fear runs hot through my veins, and I drop my knife again.

I slowly turn my head and look around the little clearing to see, ten feet behind me, a fluffy, golden squirrel peering at me through its beady blue eyes.

"Hello there Mr. Squirrel," I say, while reaching down to get my small blade. I feel much safer knowing that it's not the desperate looking Twelve boy. "I'm just passing through, I didn't mean to distur-"

When I averted my eyes to pick up my fallen weapon, it had moved a few feet closer. I'm abruptly aware of being watched again, and I turn to look at the clearing, but turn my head towards the trees instead of the ground.

Hundreds of golden squirrels stare back at me, and I know that I would have had better chances facing the boy from the coal miner's district.

I dash away, but only make it a few steps before I feel the first of the razor sharp teeth dig into my legs, and I fall. I blindly swing my knife but it's no use.

The last thing I see, is Mr. Squirrel tip-toeing up to my face and ripping my corneas out.

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_Damn those squirrels! Ha, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter._

_Make sure to review :D_


	5. Luster Daniels

_A/N: I came up with this arena and charector a while ago, and only just got to set them into action._

_Enjoi!_

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Luster Daniels (Age 13) Male - District 1

I match her steps perfectly, keeping her unnaturally blonde hair in my train of sight. I knew from the second that I stepped on that stage in front of the Capitol.

I knew when she "accidently" hit me with her shoulder while we switched places for our interviews. I knew when I glanced at the other tributes and saw that sickly-sweet smile of yours, the one that told me you know I'm not some pitiable, unlucky boy from District 1.

I knew that I had to kill you myself.

You couldn't know everything, that's impossible, but you certainly know enough. Enough to make me avoid the pack of careers, and you, for the majority of our time in the capitol. Enough to know that I'm a threat.

I can't say that my vendetta against you is a personal one, frankly, I figured that whoever came from home with me for the games was the most significant hazard. They, or she I should say, would have the slightest risk of blowing my cover.

As you walk in the shallow snow, your feet break a thin branch and I slide out of your line in vision just in time to avoid your haughty gaze. Your confused, it's obvious. You must be realizing the twist of the arena this year. It makes your stealth near impossible, and tipped me off that someone (that someone being you) was nearby.

Being part of the career pack helped get you to the final 6, but what you don't know from being close to other tributes over the past week, is that all other sounds are drained when tributes are close by to each other. You had gotten used to the quiet, and thought it was the same for everyone. You can't hear the wind whistle through the trees, not the crunch of a branch, or even the stream that babbled away nearby before. But you can hear every noise a competitor makes and the booming cannons that occasionally fire.

I see the wheels turning in your head and you freeze faster than this chilly arena. _Yes, understand_, I think. I have stayed my blade long enough for her to realize that she is not alone. Her bone white hands tighten on the handle of her spear. I wonder if she guesses it's me.

"Who's there?" she asks turning around in a wide circle. The small crack in her voice disappoints me. I wanted her to be the ruthless killer she pretended to be. It would make ending her more enjoyable.

Slowly, as she turns her back to me to protect herself from a different angle, I fling a knife at her back. As it enters the space in-between her shoulder blades, she stumbles to the ground and screams in misery.

"Well," I begin, pulling another knife from my belt. This one is reunited with its kin, the only difference is that it lands her stomach. Another scream, this time followed by a round of coughing scarlet blood.

"It doesn't really matter, now does it?" I muse, pulling my third and last knife from its hiding place in my boot. I don't want to underestimate anyone. This could all be an act, and she could definitely take me down one on one. But she has flight on her mind, not fight. She pushes herself half way up and tries to run, except her feet aren't working.

"The one in your back must've nicked something important," I say overtaking her pathetic escape attempt with a few steps. I bend down and quickly pull out my other blades. I can't afford to waste any of them, or I'm asking for someone to kill me.

"Hey, think about it this way," I murmur in her ear. "You have the honor of dying by the youngest ever Hunger Games victor." I let that sink in for a couple of seconds before plunging my knife directly above her heart.

_BOOM!_

I wait with my eyes closed in triumph for all the sounds to rush back, like they did with my other kills. Only, it stays quiet. I turn in a whirl wind of snow, raising a knife as I do.

Time seems to speed up and the only thing I notice is the head of an axe making its home in my neck.

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_I love how he exploited the soundless areana to find the District one girl, and someone else used it to find him._

_A speciel thanks to the very few people who reviews/reviewed! Make sure to supply fresh ideas or other super-duper stuff!_

_Much loveeeeeee_


	6. Taver Roria

_A/N: I have a small obsession with districts four, five and twelve._

_Happy MLK day!_

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Taver Roria (Age 17) Male - District 12

The platform that pushed me up through the ground has deposited me in a field of grass that stretches forty feet above my head. The sun glints off my short blonde hair and instantly warms it. The ground is a dirty path, with some of the weeds and plants skirting around the edges of the trail.

They grow so close together and around each other that it would be impossible to squeeze through with just your bare hands, but of course those really polite game makers have given me a few options. I could go straight ahead to the golden cornucopia that rests eighty feet away or just turn tail and run in the opposite direction.

Just dandy. If I turn around and run, no one in their right mind would sponsor me, but if I go for the supplies, well… there's that whole _dying _thing.

You know how when you're sitting at home, watching the camera pan around to each tribute's face at the beginning of a new hunger games, you wonder why in the hell would they run straight into that free for all when it is almost certain you'll die.

Well, it's different when your _that_ tribute. The one with sweaty palms, the one that has to face a field of 23 competitors, the majority of which would slit your throat in a heartbeat. Now it's _you_ having to make a life and death decision. Run and live for a little while, or stay and fight for the life giving necessities. You think that's difficult? Now try doing it in about sixty-seconds.

I will admit, I was one of the people who sat on the couch, calling the desperate tributes, the ones who were brave or stupid enough to make a go for the supplies, idiots. Well, call it karma I guess.

Then it happens. The gong rings out, and I take off like a torpedo. No, more like a desperate and very stupid tribute. When I get to the cornucopia I see tributes emerging from all sides. Everyone but the careers hesitate when they see the golden horn up close. Then they get over it and the inevitable panic sets in while everyone scrambles around picking things up.

The careers emerge from the cornucopia armed with swords, knives and a sword or two. They turn to the nearest tributes and start hacking away at their frail bodies. I run in a few yards and grasp the strap of a lime green back pack and come face to face with another tribute, the sixteen year old from Five I think. His long black hair flies around his face and his dark eyes don't show fear.

He doesn't hesitate to punch me in my face, sending blood streaming out of my now broken nose and leaving me on the ground. He grabs the pack and takes off down one of the identical path ways. I curse as I stumble to my feet and survey the cornucopia. Four or five tributes already lay dead and the careers are running out of victims. I decide it's time to skedaddle, only to see the boy from District Four stabs someone through the chest with his spear. I look, paralyzed with fear and his light blue eyes meet mine.

My paralysis disappears and I sprint through the nearest pathway, but I know what is happening not far behind me. He is drawing his arm back, spear in hand, aiming at my back. I'm only ten feet away in a four foot wide path, it's too easy for him.

He flings it forward with all his might and I catch it right in the middle of my back. My scream of pain only lasts for a couple of seconds, as he rips his weapon out of me and plunges it straight through my heart.

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_Yay for dying via spear?_

_I kind of want to write one later of the boy from D5's pov, he seems interesting and dangerous._

_Let me know if you'd like that!_

_Review, review, reviewwww! Tell your friends, family members and strangers about it!_


	7. Rink Shorma

_Sorry I've been gone for so long! *insert excuse here*_

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**Rink Shorma (Age 16) Male - District 2**

_Snap!_

Six heads turn in the same direction. We all take off like speeding bullets fired from a shotgun; quick as hell and scattered as hell. We fling ourselves around in the dead of night, darting around trees and homing in on the speedy pair of footsteps only a short distance away. Then nothing. Its quiet again.

"Break apart!" someone yells. "They could have gone anywhere!"

Another crack to my left, but more distant.

"On the left! Move!"

"Go! Don't let him get away!"

We take off after the weak interloper. I want to raise my number of kills from three to four and I've found the perfect candidate. Of course, everyone else is thinking the same thing.

Dip, dive, hop, slide. The pounding footsteps increase in intensity and, despite the humid jungle air, I feel a cold confidence enter my limbs. Then the boy screams. A finger-nails-on-a-chalkboard noise that penetrates deep into my bones.

The cold confidence I felt moments before turns to apoplectic fear.

BOOM! Goes the boy's cannon.

"Get back! Mutts!" screams the girl from district four, Urcha. Then she screams a little louder. I see a sickly green arm wrap itself around her waist and lift her terrified form five feet above our heads. The "arm" protrudes from the monstrous beast's face as a sort of nose. Twin spikes on either side of it shine in the low light of our torches.

_Spleelch!_

Urcha was now a fish-ka-bob. I back up and raise my spear as three more come cascading through the brush.

Their nose-trumpets bellow as my ally's cannon fires. Feet pounding, the rest of the splits, running in the spaces between the single monstrosity and it's friends. I'm the only one that hasn't moved.

There's a pause. Then I take off. I'm thinking that they aren't very agile and I can get around them. No such luck.

A nose snatches my left leg and it's dragging me back before I even hit the ground. My body is flung upside down and I'm face to face with this brute. His eyes are sea foam green.

When he sticks me on his horns, the agony is indescribable. The only good thing is it doesn't last too long.

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_Let me know if you liked it and junk._


	8. Coaird Willigare

****_Here's another chapter. Please love me._

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**Coaird Willigare (Age 15) Female - District 8**

The low warble of the river in no way drowns out the sound of my stomach. Six days, 17 dead tributes, a few crackers earlier and I may have just ignored it, but damn it, I was hungry.

"Greetings tributes!" booms Claudius Templesmith. "And congratulations to all who remain! I would like to formally invite you all to a dandy meal at the cornucopia in, how about, fifteen minutes? I sincerely hope all of you can make it." There's a slight static noise and he's gone.

The cornucopia is a mere five minute walk from here. I sigh. I have no choice but to shakily get to my feet and shuffle in the general direction of the cornucopia. Maybe I can scrounge up some left over's.

I was small before the arena, but now I'm just a skeleton with a mess of dark hair. Maybe I could out diet the competition.

I stumble a bit at the edge of the clearing. The temperature is dropping a little. Probably to add to the suspense. I crouch in a bush and wait.

Several minutes later and the earth surrounding the great golden horn opens up and a solitary loaf of bread rises up on a platform. Nothing happens.

Maybe the other tributes don't want to risk their lives for something so invaluable, but waiting for an easy victim to emerge seems more likely.

_Well, _I think. _You only live once._

I run ten feet out and the woods come to life. Fighting erupts from every direction.

Someone throws a spear at me and I dive. It cuts through my hair and misses my scalp by a few inches. I roll on my back to see the girl from District One raising a curved ax high above her head.

I keep turning and it misses my neck. It finds my hand though.

She pulls it from my palm and raises it, as I scream in pain. High above her head the ax goes. I kick out at her knee and the satisfying _crunch _helps dull my own extremity's pain.

She bellows and the ax finds a new home; my stomach.

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_Well, here you go guys. Leave me reviews._

_YOLO._


	9. Lussom Danford

_Happy Easter from district 10, y'all._

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**Lussom Danford (Age 18) Female - District 10**

The sand beneath me crunches with every foot step. It's not just on the ground though. It's in my sandals, the thick, crusty gash on my shoulder, even a few specks reside on my eyelashes. Not to mention the piles in my clothes and hair.

It rubs against my raw, red skin and makes my knife's handle feel like broken glass. It reflects the sun, generating heat from below as well as above.

I hate it.

The straps of my back pack are starting to cut into my shoulders, despite the light contents. Just a book of matches, several missing, and a bone dry water bottle. My lips are just as badly cracked as the desert ground.

Nevertheless, I crunch on through the hills, looking for something besides hell powder and scrubby bushes. Hopefully water, but I'm not feeling too hopeful.

I keep myself motivated through chants of _It's over the next one. No, the next one. _As I reach the peak of a particularly tall mound of earth, I hear the speedy _shuffle-shuffle _of running feet.

I swerve around raising my small weapon only to get tackled to my back. I'm tumbling, back over head over legs. Again and again. We both are.

We slide to a halt on a hard sheet of granite some twenty feet away from each other. I stumble to my feet, head screaming and nose bleeding.

I hear a boy's yell from the top of a now distant peek. The girl that attacked me is on her hands and knees. I think she may have hurt her leg.

I only hesitate for a moment. Then her young blood stains the earth. I feel a hollow ache in my chest that doesn't come from thirst or hunger.

I hear her distant cannon fire as I rip the blood stained pack from her back. The boy yells again and I turn to face him just a second too late. The blade soars from my hand and I feel sweaty palms grasp my neck. I feel the hard earth on my back. I drop the dead girl's pack and rip at his strong forearms, then his eyes.

He screams in pain and slams my skull against the resilient ground.

I black out and the warm sun is gone forever.

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_So, like, give me ideas 'n junk thx._


	10. Evuun Ised

_New chapter n' junk. Enjoy._

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**Evunn Ised (Age 15) Male - District 5**

When they called my name, there was a collective sigh among the citizens. "There goes another one," they said. "Coulda made something of himself. What a shame…" Shame I was sentenced to death. I could feel my mother and father shaking their heads. Disappointed in their youngest son, yet again. He isn't a champion, not like their oldest.

I'm sure they expect me to last a day or two. Nothing more, nothing less. It's funny, even when I know I won't see the black panels that fuel all of Panem with the sun's rays again, when I know I won't see my baby sister or my friends ever again, when I know that I will die, I can still be a disappointment to them.

There is no way I will win, but I have to give it a go. I have to breathe for just a little bit longer than some of the others. How embarrassing it would be, to have a son die within the first five minutes of the games. How inadequate.

And the worst part is, I can't do even this. My feet leave the platform as the gong rings, and I know it is over. I run on the slick tiled floor towards the golden cornucopia. I grab handfuls of supplies and start to turn.

Too late. He is there, with a sword of steel and a heart of stone, the boy from the diamond district. I'm sure his father smiles at his strength, his mother laughs at how easy this will be for her boy.

It's so unfortunate. The boy from district 5 doesn't last five minutes. Not unexpected, but a shame indeed. And as his hopes and dreams end with a stab to the chest, he wheezes "sorry."

Sorry he wasn't the champion his brother was.

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_u like? let meow kn0_


	11. Sunia Tiltone

_Sorry, I forgot you guys existed for a month or four._**  
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**Sunia Tiltone (Age 18) Female - District 11**

The thunder overheard roars and leaves my head ringing. Again and again, while the rain pelts my body. I'm sick of the never ending down pour. I think I may go deaf from the constant howl of thunder and pitter-patter of rain, but I can still hear Buck's loving whisper in my ear for the time being.

"You can make it. It's just you and a bunch of kids, doll. Come out swinging and you'll win."

Like I could come out any other way. I was born all fight and no flight. The cold water chills my skin but my black slicker keeps me dry and I push on in the near dark. We're going to be married when I come home, Buck and I. White dress, a house, maybe we'll get a dog. It's not much, but it'll be mine.

Mush, mush. My feet slop through the muddy ground and through the thick woods. She has to be around here, somewhere. The cornucopia is almost always where the final show down happens and we're the only two left.

It's maybe, I don't know, thirty yards away when I slow my approach. My body lowers in an attempt to hide my 5 foot 9 inch frame. The woods will conceal the sound of my approach, but not my silhouette.

I'm wary of this last girl, for she is the unknown, and I'm not sure what I should expect. The girl from 7. I know she is smaller than me, but could she have had a hand in the death of the handful of careers left? A few days ago, four of the original six survived. First the pair from district 4 lost their lives, then the boy from 2 in the wee hours of yesterday morning.

I claim the credit for taking care of blonde-bitch from district 1 though.

But could this little girl _really_ have killed some of the others? I don't see how she could but, here we are on day number eighteen and we're all that's left. I imagine here quivering upper lip and tear streaked face when Caesar interviewed her. My pace quickens.

Hidden behind a tree and a dense crop of bushes, I survey the scene, or lack thereof. The normally shining cornucopia surface has been reduced to a mere golden glow in the night rain. My assumption was that she would have taken shelter in the mouth of the horn but I peer into its dark, uncertain mouth.

I wait for several agonizing minutes. Where could she be? I shiver and take a step out into the open. Buck is at home, waiting, watching and I am sick of this horrible arena. I take cautious steps forward and hear the dull thud of the metal under my feet. The horn is deep and inviting. She's probably hiding at the end.

My breathing quickens and my hand feels rigid on my won spear. I raise it in anticipation. Slowly forward I go and…

…nothing. She isn't here. Where is she?! I'm done here, ready to leave, and she isn't fucking here-

_Thump-thump!_

I whirl around and hurl my spear and the dark blob sprinting forward on the golden floor. It sails over Johanna Mason's left shoulder. As she raises the handle of a lethal looking ax, I hope Buck knows to look away.

_Boom!_


	12. Rutter McMally

**Rutter McMally (Age 16) Female - District 4**

You know, it's funny how well I'm doing in the games. My single father works in a rundown grocery store so no one is really betting on me. Actually, according to the Capitol's best statisticians, the heaviest factor as to why I haven't died yet is sheer dumb luck. That and the fact that the tributes are separated by thick, stone walls; a castle, I think it's called. A place where fairies grant wishes and princes kiss princesses or whatever. It wasn't catered to killer teenagers, so we're all sort of just hiding and running from our own shadows. The Hunger Games were the perfect opportunity to all of the inspiring artists in the great Capitol to reinvent themselves with a super chique arena design and, only being the eighth games, anything was up for discussion. Like, seriously, there were flaming torches on the walls.

Here I am, little 'ole Rutty. Fifteen tributes are dead and I'm not one of them. I even made it out of the cornucopia dining hall with a shoulder bag, a water jug and a dusty brick. At first I ran through the dank hallways, left, right, up this staircase, avoid that half adjacent doorway, but now all I want is a nice bed and a pair of shoes with descent arch support. A very boring place to hold a festival of death, the castle is.

Occasionally I'd pass by a video screen displaying the capitol seal. Any and all deaths were recorded there. Just the awkward headshots we all took in the capitol and our district numbers.

I suddenly hear scuffles and faint yells bounce off the castle walls. Shit! I'd been walking down this single hall for forty-five minutes and if I could hear someone else, they could hear my clickity-clack as I ran away. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe there's a fork or a room to hide in up ahead. God, that's so stupid. On a scale of one to "really fucking stupid" on the plan scale, that's easily "really fucking stupid."

Despite my better judgment, I creep forward, cursing my trendy capitol sneakers, brick in hand. I continue forward on and on for a minute, one-and-a-half tops, until coming to a turn. I'm certain there's some room or cavern or whatever around the bend where the commotion is taking place. I stick one eye around the corner (there isn't a strand of my brown hair free of sweat). My eyes adjust quickly to the brighter lit room and I take in the scene. Dozens of heavy oak tables lay strewn about while two smaller tributes grapple with the larger boy from some outlying district.

Maybe if the smaller tributes, a pale skinned boy and a girl with glasses, attacked together, they would be able to kill the bigger boy from district 12. He was just too big. The boy jumped on his back, yeah, but the one holding the knife was the girl who looked unsure of her ability to stab the right partner in the bucking boys. I was mesmerized. Knocking tables around, the large boy was trying to get his fallen mace some ten feet away, near the girl. Not being able to shake the slimmer boy off, 12 jumped back and slammed him into the nearest table, smashing it to pieces. The smaller boy gave a grunt of pain and slackened his grip. The girl immediately sprinted forward to try and save her ally, leaving the deadly bludgeon free.

I shoot towards it.

I don't trust anyone in these games, but I'd rather take my chances with the tiny-twosome (from District…3?) than the near adult coal miner. Besides, my chances would definitely increase if I traded a measly old brick for something like _that. _As a pick it I hear the vicious _snap! _and turn. The 12 boy had taken a table leg and slammed it into the girl's head. Her glasses shatter like her skull. I need to get out of here now. Stupid, stupid st- _snap!_

District 3 is out of the running this year. And District 12 lifts his sweaty brow and sees me, holding his mace.

He is barreling towards me in seconds. He is tired, yes, but not an ounce less deadly. I try to lift my weapon above my head, a deadly glamazon from District 4-but I'm a store clerk's daughter and the mace feels like a half ton of raw steel. I let go and dive over towards a table, crawling underneath. I don't even have my brick.

The table cracks and I feel a stabbing pain in my back, then a hand on my foot. I kick it off once but it finds me again and drags me out to his feet. I kick his arm and use the measly moment I earned to half get up but he lifts me off the ground and, and, I'm airborne!

I slide to a halt against the far wall and feel the wind leave my lungs. I see every step that boy takes towards me and I pray something stops him. Nothing does. Nothing stops his heavy mace from pulverizing my brain either.

_Boom!_

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**I was in the mood. Sorry I've been absent for a while/years.**


	13. Lile Runderson

**Lile Runderson (Age 14) Male - District 8**

My name is Lile, I remember. Lile, not Lily. A lot of people called me Lily Back home. They thought it was funny, I even laughed once or twice.

Are they laughing now? Am I laughing now? Who is the making all that laughter I hear? I think it's me.

I don't ever remember fitting in the factory I worked at, with my peers. My peers. I don't think I fit in with them. Ever. Not really, maybe. No.

Not ever. They hang out with me now, though. They reach their hands out of the rocky cracks in the ground and laugh and laugh and laugh.

"What's so funny?" I wonder. Is losing fingers funny? Is walking funny? Maybe I am funny. If losing fingers and walking is funny, I am very funny. It's good that I am good at math, the best in my class, because I can only count to seven when I use my fingers now. Seven and a half technically, but my pinky is only a four. Everyone knows you round up when you have a five, six, seven, eight or nine. They won't stop laughing and tripping me. Maybe someone called me Lily again.

I'll fucking kill them if I can. If I get home, I'll do it. I swear. I'll wrap my seven fingers around their necks and squeeze until I stop laughing. Stop laughing? But I'm not laughing. Lily isn't laughing and neither is Lile. I trip over someone's hand and fall.

I'm sure that's very funny.

I mean, I can't stop laughing so it must be. I lay on my back and look into the sky. Blue. Just like fish and pants and water. Water. I'd love some water. Maybe I could clean my red pants. My missing digits made them less blue.

I know that's very funny.

But there is no water around me. I swam in all of it already. No, wait, I didn't; I can't swim. My classmates must have drank it all. I'd love some blue water. Love it. I could wash my hands and my hair and the sky. I think something must be wrong, because I suddenly stop laughing. My throat hurts from…laughing? Why? Same with my head.

"Lily's head hurts," says someone.

My name is _LILE! _

My laughs won't come back. I think this is indicative, a metaphor for my how I'm not laughing so therefore I won't laugh. Thank goodness I'm great at math. I think I'm going to die. I think I want to. That's not funny either, but it's true I think. I think. I think…

…I'm thirsty.

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_By request. Hope it is satisfactory!_


	14. Printemps Ere

_While I was waiting for more characters for my other story (coughcough), I thought I'd update this! As always, enjoy._

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**Printemps Ere (Age 13) Female - District 5**

_Here we go,_ I think to myself. I feel the platform rise beneath me and I try not to hold my breath. District 5 hasn't had a winner in ten years and our losing streak is bound to continue with my being a meager 13 years old and my district partner having an unnaturally curved back, causing him to permanently hunch. I did make friends with the girl from 7, Oya, and I was planning to meet up with her. My head reaches the surface and I take in my surroundings.

A beach.

Well, not quite. The tributes are on a high, unnaturally wide hill with beach forty feet down on one side and a thick wood in the distance. I had my back to the beach and, being that there was a thirty foot drop to the sand, I was preparing myself to run all the way around the circle. I can even see Oya all the way across. She tilts her head back with eyebrows raised. I nod. The woods are our best bet. I place my small feet stretched apart, like when we'd do sprints in gym class at school. Then something catches my eye; a beige rucksack maybe ten yards in. I only have thirty seconds and I'm considering the options. I could run around the circle and, most likely, avoid most of the tributes or I could make a dash down the middle and pick something up as I went. I wondered what my drunken mentor would want me to do.

The gong sounds and I have made up my mind; that backpack is mine. I run forward and every single tribute with their backs to the water does the same. The thing is, half of them are careers. I pump my little legs harder and harder on the grass, but other tributes pass me. I sling the pack up and keep going, only losing a little of my momentum.

"What the hell?" yells someone farther ahead. I veer to the right and see the mouth of the cornucopia.

Maces. Long, short, thin, tall black or silver, that's the only weapon I see. Actually, besides the basic supplies and little food set out, the black clubs take up most of what's available. I see the boy from 2 reach in and grab he and his district partner a particularly deadly pair. He tosses it to her and she turns, looking for a victim.

And I'm running right at her.

It must look like I was going to charge her from behind (wow, the hill must've been slightly steeped in this direction because I'm really going), for she raises her weapon and goes to meet me in the middle, a guttural yell in her throat. She's twice my size, so she crosses the distance in a matter of seconds. I duck her lethal weapon's first blow, but she spins around and goes for a down slash now. This one connects with my shoulder, crunching the bone and sending waves of pain radiating down my torso.

Oh god, _oh god_, it hurt. I cry as I grab my wound and try to keep running down the hill, but I only get a few steps before the boy from 2 raises his forearm and hits me square in the face. My feet fly out and I'm skidding to a halt on my back, crying my heart out. And there she is, the blonde beauty from the masonry district. She yells again and brings her mace down on my ribs splintering those too easily.

I hear Oya yelling my name nearby and I know she's next on District 2's kill list. I want to yell "run" or "help" or anything, but I can't breathe. The larger boy goes to her just as District 2 brings her mace down one more time and I black out.

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_Ooooo, kill 'em, ooooo, kill 'em._


	15. Mik Sowe

_I've been very preoccupied with my SYOC and I haven't updated this in a while, so, without further ado..._

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**Mik Sowe (Age 17) – District 9**

I stumble and up falling flat out on the wasted ground in front of me, a roar of humming in my ears. I scrape my hands and knees as I land, but I'm too preoccupied retching every ounce of my insides onto the ground. The taste of bile stings my throat and brings small tears to the inner corner of my eyes. I swat wildly around myself, unsuccessfully trying to ward off death. I need to move, need to find somewhere to hide but the itchy nibbles encompassing my arms and face and body tell me it's far too late.

There are only four or five other tributes left, I had lost count long ago, and I was doing fine. Well, even. When the games started, I immediately fled into the large field of amber grain most tributes dared not to enter. I relaxed for the first week, maneuvering easily through the sea of tall vegetation and eating my fill of the wheat that was fairly common in my home away from home. Back in District 9, I was one of the few who worked in the fields rather than the processing factories. I had long arms and legs, even if I wasn't particularly big, so I was recruited to help harvest our district's primary good a few years ago. It didn't pay any better than a processing gig, but it was easy to pocket a handful of raw wheat when you were hidden from view. Not like the peace keepers cared. They were very lax with the field workers. Besides, it wasn't nearly as overcrowded as the refineries that spewed stinking clouds of smoke. Anyone can labor in those bland, hot buildings, but you had to be a certain kind of guy or gal to work in the fields.

Death after death, cannon after cannon. My enemies slaughtered each other while I relaxed and drank from my small canteen. It was almost peaceful. I was beginning to think that I could win, could really make it home if I kept it up. Then the buzzing started.

Insects as big as a man's thumb were released with numbers too high to fathom. They blocked out the sun on an otherwise warm and beautiful day and, more importantly, destroyed mile after mile after mile of my grassy refuge. All of that would have been detrimental to my strategy, but the Gamemakers didn't stop there. You see these bugs not only had an appetite for my grains and grass, but left a poisonous bite as well. My odds of winning went from "underdog who just _might_ do it" to another faceless tribute of District 9 after they swarmed all around me. I think of the shining faces of the starving, the smiling brows of my fellow harvesters cheering me on during their short midday breaks, my younger siblings willing me to last just a little bit longer and I feel a hollow ache consume my chest. We haven't had a tribute to cheer for in years and every boy and girl back home thought that I would be the first District 9 victor in a generation.

I guess the Gamemakers had other ideas.

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_I always end up liking my one shot death characters right as they die, but that's the point, yeah? Send me ideas and review!_


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